by Terry Yates
“Okay,” he told the boy.
“Sir?”
“Go ahead. Find your dad, but if you don’t find him soon, get back to the sleeping quarters. We could have a long night ahead of us.”
Zack was stunned. The man hadn’t tried to talk sense into him…hadn’t told him to listen to reason…hadn’t said…”Now Zachary, give me the gun”.
“Go!” Kyler told him.
Zack nodded his head at the doctor, ran backwards a few steps, then turned and bolted down the corridor. Kyler watched him round the corner and disappear from sight.
“Shelly,” Kyler muttered under his breath, angry with himself for being duped.
Gringo wandered down the hall, his head throbbing. Boy, Samantha had cold cocked him one, but good.
“I think the bitch gave me a concussion,” he muttered as he wandered the halls.
He wobbled down the hall, trying to shake out the cobwebs. It was probably a slight concussion, he told himself. His head hadn’t been perfectly center to the spot on the cooler door that Samantha had knocked the large dent in.
The blow had gotten him turned around. All of the hallways looked just alike…well lit, with white tile floors, and doors all over the place. He didn’t know why, but he found himself trying every few doorknobs along the way. He actually found several doors that were unlocked, but each time he looked in, he saw only an empty room.
He rounded corner after corner, trying to find the sleeping quarters, but the blow to his head had affected his sense of direction. For all he knew, he could be on the other side of the building. He rounded another corner to find himself looking down a hallway where the lights were out a couple of hundred feet down. He stopped still.
“Come on, Gringo,” he told himself. “You’ve been down scarier alleys than this in Philly.”
Gringo began to walk down the hallway, once again, finding himself unconsciously checking door handles. As he neared the dark part of the hallway, he found an unlocked door.
“Let’s see if anything’s different in here,” he said, opening the door wide, and sticking his head inside. The room looked the same as the rest of them, small and empty.
“Nope,” he said aloud.
As he started to close the door, he looked down the darkened hallway.
“What the…?”
He was at a dead end. He hadn’t been walking down a long, dark corridor. He had been walking down a fairly short corridor. There was only about thirty feet of darkness and then a wall.
“Shit,” he muttered, leaving the door open.
He started to turn around and walk back, but something caught his eye. It was a large black square painted on the wall. He didn’t know why a large, black square would be painted on the wall…and he normally wouldn’t have cared, but in this building…hell, on this island…the smallest thing could be important.
He slid his hand down the white smooth brick ready to rub it across the black mark. As he got closer, he could see that it wasn’t a black mark at all, but a small dark entranceway. Since the lights were out just above him, only a little light shone through the door. The light from the lit part of the hallway helped a little, but not enough to make him want to step inside. Instead, he cautiously poked his head through. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see that it was some sort of spiral staircase.
“Don’t think I will, thank you very much,” he said aloud. “The last time I walked down a dark staircase, I got chased back up it by Fat Anthony Puccio and a couple of his goons.”
Gringo wasn’t sure if he should tell someone about his discovery or not. Everything he was looking for might be down at the bottom of that dark staircase. Best to wait till morning though. If that thing outside got inside, or Samantha got loose, he didn’t want to be running up and down dark stairways or through darkened rooms, fleeing for his life.
He decided that he would conveniently forget about it until daylight. If someone discovered it…great. He would hear about it…and if they didn’t, he would go exploring tomorrow, maybe he would take Samantha with him, then they’d find out what really went on in this place and make their fortune.
Gringo pulled his head out of the doorway then turned to leave. He got no more than two feet before he saw a light shining through one of the cracks. He bent down to investigate, sliding his hand slowly down the wall. He put his hand between the crack where he’d seen the light beam. There was something jammed in the small space. He pulled the obstruction from the crack and looked at it. It was a cardkey. A freekin’ cardkey!
He looked at the key for a moment before hearing a noise behind him. Startled, he turned around to see the small entranceway sealing itself up. Holy shit, it was a door…a secret door. Gringo turned and put his hand on the space where the opening had been. It was completely sealed. He hoped he hadn’t just locked someone inside. Well, if he had, they wouldn’t starve by morning. He’d let them out, and then feign ignorance.
Gringo smiled as he began to skip lightly down the hallway. Tomorrow was going to be a great day for Gringo Boots. He just knew it…he could feel it. There was something else that he could feel…or couldn’t feel. His head wasn’t hurting anymore and he could almost think clearly again. Gringo began to hum a happy tune as he slipped the cardkey into his pocket, and began to merrily make his way back down the hallway.
“Do you see anything?” Hawkins called from his corner of the roof, making sure that the werewolf didn’t skirt around them and try to ambush them from behind.
“Nothing,” FranAnne answered. “I can’t see a thing because of the debris. It all looks like shadows.”
“Same over here.”
“I gotta tell ya’, FranAnne said over her shoulder. “I’m more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Same over here.”
FranAnne had tried to follow the creature, but was having no luck. Once it went down on all fours and disappeared into the darkness, she lost it. She would walk a few feet from one side of the corner, go back, and then walk a few feet from the other side, never taking her eyes off of the ground, and never getting too far away from her spare rifles. She also kept her ears open. Something that weighed three hundred plus pounds would eventually have to make some sort of noise as it got closer, no matter how light on its feet it was.
She wondered if the werewolf was watching them. Of course, it was. It had to be. Something as blatantly ballsy as that thing, had to have some idea of what it was doing, animal or not.
As she walked along the front part of the bunker, she saw something move behind the overturned jeep. She stopped still, but she didn’t freeze. She gripped the AK-47 tightly and slowly raised it up to waist level. Had she really seen something, or had the shadow of a seagull or some other kind of bird, flown overhead? She stared at the jeep for a moment, but nothing moved. If the thing was behind the jeep, it could wait her out knowing that she couldn’t take her eyes off of the rest of the landscape for too long, because if she was wrong and nothing was behind the jeep, the werewolf could be sneaking up behind her.
FranAnne stared at the spot for another moment, and then pretended to turn and walk away, but kept her eyes on that spot for as long her neck would let her. When she came to the point where she had to look away, she did, and then counted silently to three. On three, she quickly spun back around and looked at the spot. And then she saw it…a silhouette on all fours, standing three feet from the overturned jeep. She had fooled the monster into thinking that she hadn’t seen it, and ended up catching it red-handed, trying to move from one hiding spot to another. The beast tried to stay frozen and pretend to be just another shadow, but FranAnne wasn’t fooled. She might’ve been if it had closed its eyes, but those bright yellow eyes gave it away.
FranAnne immediately pulled the trigger of the AK-47, and began to spray the area. The sudden loud burst of rapid fire took Hawkins by surprise, almost causing him to fall off the roof, only regaining his footing at the last second.
“What the shit?” he screamed.
He turned to see FranAnne spraying the field with bullets. He ran over to join her, but just as he reached her, she stopped firing.
“Did you see it?” Hawkins yelled, wide eyed, trying to scope the area.
“Yes,” FranAnne answered, staring at two fallen trees. “It’s right behind those trees right there.
“Are you sure?”
“Hell yeah, I’m sure!”
“I don’t see it.”
“I don’t either now, but I know its still there.
“Did you hit it?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t hear it yelp or anything.”
“Well, don’t shoot again until you positively see it, Hawkins told her. “Remember, we only have a few rounds of the special ammo”
The two stared at the spot for no more than a second, before they saw the werewolf run out from behind the two fallen trees. They began to fire at the creature as it ran full speed toward the front door. It was zigzagging, careful not to let the two-leggers take careful aim.
As it galloped toward the building, it felt one of the hot rocks tear into its flank, the force of the bullet knocking it off balance. It howled in pain. The small rocks that the two-leggers were hitting it with burned its flank immensely. Usually they hurt and of course, they burned some, but this rock wouldn’t stop hurting or burning. It was almost as if it were fighting the dog again, but the dog was nowhere to be seen and if the two-leggers hit it with anymore of the special hot rocks, it might not get up again. Instead, it would play dead.
FranAnne and Hawkins watched the beast lying prone, not moving a muscle.
“Good shot,” Hawkins told FranAnne. “You think its dead?”
“I don’t know,” FranAnne answered him. “Let’s give him a volley to make sure.”
But before the two could even aim at the thing, the werewolf was on its feet and running again, trying to stay on all fours, so it wouldn’t be as big a target.
“Here it comes!” FranAnne screamed, as the beast made its way straight at them.
“Here it comes,” Potts said, taking a last puff off of his cigar. “Come on, Sergeant,” he ordered Cohen as he moved toward the steel doors.
“What are we going to do, Sir?” Cohen asked as he joined Potts by the door.
“We’re going to meet it. Ready with your cardkey, Professor?” he asked, over his shoulder.
“We’re going outside?” Cohen asked.
“That’s right.”
Locklear joined the pair by the door. He looked at Cohen nervously.
“You’re actually going outside?” Locklear asked, holding his cardkey out.
“Yep,” Potts answered, taking the card from him and sticking into the keypad on the wall next to them.
“Are you sure that’s wise, Sir?” Cohen asked him.
“Come on, Sergeant, we went through worse than this in Baghdad, didn’t we?”
“Yessir…but we weren’t fighting werewolves.”
“Tomato…tomoto…” Potts shot back, grinning a grin that Cohen had never seen before. “Professor, be sure and close the door behind us, okay?”
“Sure,” Locklear said, zombie-like, still looking at Cohen.
As the two doors began to open, the two men gripped their weapons tightly, Potts with an AK-47 and the sergeant with an Uzi.
“Got your grenades on you?” Potts asked, touching the hand grenade vest that they’d found in the weapons room. They had four grenades apiece, which should be enough to blow this mutt back to Hell.
Cohen felt the grenades on his jacket, then nodded his head. Potts didn’t see the nod, because neither of the men were looking at the other. They both kept their eyes glued to the opening doors.
As soon as they were open wide enough, Potts quickly shot the gap and ran into the yard, surprising Cohen who stood still for a moment, not sure what to do.
“Come on, Sarge!” he heard Potts scream from outside.
Cohen ran through the door. As soon as he got outside, he immediately saw Potts off to his right. He was standing still as FranAnne and Hawkins fired at the beast from overhead. He was waiting for the thing to get closer before firing.
The sergeant moved up next to Potts and watched as the thing headed straight for them at full gallop. It was no more than fifty feet away when Potts raised his hand into the air.
“Hold your fire!” he screamed as the beast bore down on them.
The firing from overhead stopped as Potts lowered his hand. The beast was now thirty feet away…twenty-five…and still Potts wasn’t firing on it.
“Colonel?” Cohen said warily.
“Wait for it,” Potts said slowly.
The beast was no more than fifteen feet away now. Its footfalls were making the ground in front of them shake. They could see the angry yellow eyes and the hot breath shooting from its nostrils, while it let out a growl that chilled Cohen to the bone.
Colonel?”
The werewolf was going to be on them in two seconds if they didn’t do something. As the thing neared the ten-foot mark, Potts let go with a burst from the AK-47, the bullets slamming into the werewolf, stopping it in mid stride and sending it crashing flat onto its back, causing the earth to move as it hit. The thing lay motionless, its long clawed feet pointing straight into the air. Potts raised his hand, once again signaling FranAnne and Hawkins to hold their fire. He slowly moved to his left, putting his hand against Cohen’s stomach in an attempt to move him backwards a few steps so that he could approach the werewolf from its right side.
Potts cautiously moved forward, the beast stretched out as if it were on a morgue slab, dead.
“Careful, Colonel,” Cohen said, moving to Potts’ left to cover him, his finger on the Uzi trigger.
Potts eased his way to almost arm’s length of the creature. He looked down at the werewolf, its eyes closed. There were at least eight nickel sized holes covering its chest and stomach. Small wisps of smoke rose out from the wounds.
“Damn, that dog’s got some lethal spit,” Potts said, still staring down at the monster.
“Careful, Colonel!” FranAnne called from the roof. “He likes to play possum!”
As if it had heard its plan being given away, the werewolf suddenly opened its eyes and with its right claw, swiped at the AK-47, knocking it from Potts’ grasp, and sending it flying through the air away from him. With lightning speed, the beast was up on its feet right in front of Potts, towering at least sixteen inches above him.
“Shit!” Potts heard Hawkins scream from the roof.
The werewolf raised back its right claw and took a swing at Potts. Years of training had taught Potts that if the enemy swung a heavy object at you, instead of trying to block it, which could break your arms, you dove out of the way, hit the ground and rolled away. Potts instinctively knew what to do as soon as it began to rear back its claws. He had already begun to dive out of the way before the claw had even reached its arc, so when the beast swung at him, he was already riding the punch. He didn’t get away completely unscathed. The werewolf’s claw raked him across the shoulder as he jumped away, the force of the blow knocking Potts ten feet through the air. He landed on his stomach, the round, metal grenades on his vest sending excruciating pain into his chest.
Potts rolled over onto his side, the pain from his torn shoulder burning. He tried to dive for the AK-47, but the beast jumped, landing between him and the rifle. Then, much to the colonel’s shock and surprise, the werewolf stomped its large foot down onto the rifle, shattering it into several pieces.
“Damn, you know what you’re doing, don’t you,” he said softly, standing up. He was looking into the werewolf’s angry face, the side of its mouth curled into a snarl. As it raised its claw back to swing at Potts again, it let out an ear-piercing roar.
Up on the roof, FranAnne and Hawkins had their guns aimed at the thing.
“Don’t shoot!” Hawkins screamed.
From their vantage point, they co
uldn’t get a clear shot, because Potts’ back was between them and the werewolf. Even though it stood more than a foot above Potts, their silhouettes were almost merged into one big shadow. The shot would be too risky.
“We’ve gotta do something!” FranAnne yelled.
Cohen had also been scared to shoot his Uzi at the monster. He wasn’t used to firing an Uzi and he was afraid that the spray of bullets might get them both. He tried to get to the thing’s side, but he knew there wouldn’t be enough time before the thing’s arm came down and separated Potts’ head from his shoulders.
The claw was coming down with full force when Cohen saw a flash of light and heard a single shot from the roof. The bullet tore through the point of the werewolf’s left ear, tearing it away. The beast grabbed its head and howled in agonizing pain, the mercury eating away at what had been the point of the thing’s ear. Once again, wisps of smoke rose from the wound.
Potts immediately threw himself backwards, landing hard on his back..
“Fire all!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Immediately, FranAnne and Hawkins began to open fire on the creature. Potts, still on the ground, quickly removed his revolver and began to fire up into the beast’s stomach. Sgt. Cohen ran to his right, putting himself to the side of both the werewolf and Potts, and out of the path of the rooftop fire. He too took out his revolver with the dog enzyme bullets and began to fire in the monster’s right rib cage.
The beast spun around in circles, howling in pain as it clawed at itself trying to dig out the bullets.
“Keep firing!” Potts screamed from the ground, emptying his revolver clip and replacing it with another. “Keep it hot!”
The werewolf continued to spin around in agony, the smoke pouring out of every bullet hole and almost covering it completely in a mist. It knew it had to get away from the extra hot rocks, its instincts telling it that these small rocks were dangerous to its survival.
In the blink of an eye, the thing jumped to its right and flew through the air. Sgt. Cohen thought that the thing was going to jump completely over him, but he was wrong. Dead wrong. For the angered beast didn’t jump over him, instead it landed on top of him.